


The Game or A Home - A Teenlock fanfiction

by VayceThreyvaCeciliaHoldshire1726



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: M/M, Teenlock
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-07
Updated: 2017-02-06
Packaged: 2018-09-07 01:02:33
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,955
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8776969
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VayceThreyvaCeciliaHoldshire1726/pseuds/VayceThreyvaCeciliaHoldshire1726
Summary: This is another roleplay I had with Amelia Watson, but this time we were joined by Amy C. . It takes place at school, where Jim is trying to get Sherlock. He's fascinated by the young man with the magnificent brain, but then John Watson walks into their lives and makes everything slightly more complicated.





	1. Prelude

_Moriarty found school, like almost everything else, to be boring. The lessons, the teachers, and the pupils... Oh the pupils. They might as well been pigeons, flocking in crowds and cooing to one another, their dull eyes hardly processing the world around them. Moriarty had managed to get a number under his thumb, it was easy enough, only took some pressure and blackmailing to get them to move out of the way whenever he walked by. He had passed his GCSEs with flying colours with little to no sense of concentration, and upon entering his 11th year in school, he found himself without any idea of the career he wanted to pursue, though his mind wandered over positions of power and influence. Something where he was untouchable, where he was feared above all else... But it was early days. He had chosen Theatre, Psychology, Chemistry and Business. There was little sense in him attending all of the classes, as he more or less had the basis of theatre and psychology down (there were perks to being a psychopath), so, he lingered, and every so often endured a lesson covering 'boring' things._

_He sat, on a Tuesday morning, at the back of a chemistry class, where the teacher was explaining the reason beta particles were formed. It was raining outside, and one of the perks of sitting near the window was being able to rest his head against the cool glass, and watch as the world outside gradually darkened._

_"Mr Moriarty, could you tell me what this means on the board?" The teacher drawled from the front of the room._

_Moriarty stared straight at the teacher with his cold stare. He gave the correct answer with a hint of a smirk in his voice._

_The teacher glared at him with annoyance at the fact he knew the answer whilst he so blatantly paid no attention, and turned back to the chalk board. Moriarty looked across the classroom at his fellow peers, labelling the stereotypes. The try hard nerd with pushy parents, the class clown, the rebel, the rest of the class, the muck for brains populars, and then there was Sherlock. His Sherlock, the only other student who seemed to contain more than one brain cell in the entire school. They understood one another, understood the frustrating boredom of the bleak world. They truly were the perfect match._   
_Sherlock was sitting to his right, and had his head faced forward, actually looking at the board for once, but Jim knew he was roaming his so-called "mind palace". He'd almost pissed himself when Sherlock had told him that. He decided to pull him out of his Palace, so, he took a piece of paper from his pad and scrawled on it a sentence. Subtly, he took aim at the dark curls of Sherlock's head and released, succeeding in hitting the back of his neck. The boy whipped around, and upon finding the ball of paper, unscrewed it to read the spidery writing._

_"Miss me yet?"_


	2. Paperchat

Sherlock winced slightly as he was hit by the paper. What was it? Another try to mock him by one of those unlettered idiots who sat in the last row? If he turned around now he'd surely just have to face another of their dumb grins. But he did so nevertheless. For what reason ever. But it wasn't the last row's guy who was grinning at him. It was Jim. Moriarty. A highly interesting fella. His piece of paper wouldn't just be a piece of paper. It was a message. So Sherlock picked it up and unfolded it.

"Miss me yet?", the writing said and made Sherlock smile just a bit. Indeed he did, but that was mostly made by the boredom this classroom offered him. Everybody here was so boring. Except for Jim, maybe. He decided to write something back. How bad could it become? Everybody hated him anyway. "Just a little", he replied and looked at the teacher who still faced the board. Good. So he threw the paper back to Jim.

When Sherlock threw back the paper, Jim's eyes shone with glee at the fact that he actually responded, and caught the paper with one hand effortlessly. Quietly, he unscrewed it and tutted silently at the handwriting on the paper, if it could be called that, the small letters ran into one single, almost uninterpretable line, with the occasional spike of a tall letter rising above the chaos. Doctor's handwriting it seemed.

He would HAVE to do something about that.

But, for the time being, he was satisfied with the the fact that Sherlock was replying to him, and he slowly translated the phrase. He let out a small huff of amusement at the boy's response before writing underneath:

"Only a little?"

He waited until the teacher wasn't looking before throwing it back onto Sherlock's desk. Perfect landing.

Sherlock winced a little again when the paper landed on his desk. Why was Jim writing to him? “Yes, or should I be leaning over your desk, lurking for your attention?“, he responded and threw the paper back once the teacher didn't look.

Jim smirked and sent it back again.

"I wouldn't complain."

Sherlock was surprised by that answer. Why did he show any interest in him? Also this seemed to be different from the way he showed interest for the others. They were useful to him, but would this be the way you talk to somebody whom you only expect to do work for you?

“Not on your nelly“, Sherlock wrote back, but drew a little smiley behind it so that Jim would know that he didn't mean it in a mean way. Then he threw the paper back again.

The paper landed on his desk again, and he soothed it out to read the squashed words at the bottom of the paper. He huffed in amusement. Sherlock was the last person he'd expect to use such an iconic English phrase, it only made him more intrigued, more determined to bag him. He had only been there a year, and already he knew his goal for the end of school: Sherlock. It was nearing the end of the lesson, and it was only five minutes before the bell screeched, but people were already packing. Jim didn't move however, he was too busy watching Sherlock, who was also remaining in his seat, still staring straight forward. He narrowed his eyes in keen interest. The paper had ran out of room now, but it didn't matter, Jim would continue it in the corridor, or wherever Sherlock was going to next, it didn't matter, he would just so coincidentally be going the same route. Sherlock remained exceptionally still and his arms lowered in one, slow, fluid motion, like an anamatronic. A smirk curled on the side of Jim's mouth. He was toying with him, Sherlock knew that he was watching him, his every movement. Clever lad. A glance at the clock... 2 minutes, the teacher didn't like the class, so it would be less. He had to pack away, but he still kept his eye on the tall, dark-haired boy in front of him. Sherlock began to move too. He shoved all of his stationery into his satchel, all the while avoiding eye contact with Jim, almost effortlessly, Jim didn't know why he didn't take theatre, he would've achieved the highest marks, alongside himself of course.

"Alright," the teacher sighed, relief shone in his eyes, "You can leave now."

The entire class erupted from their seats and scrambled madly to the door, which could only allow one person to pass at a time. This meant that a long line was formed as each person left, the occasional impatient one shoving past. Jim had remained in his seat, with the knowledge that such a queue would form. He didn't want to waste his energy in such a unnecessary action, not when there was no rush to get anywhere, after all, Sherlock had too remained in his seat. Eventually, it was just the two of them, left in the classroom. Gracefully, Sherlock stood from his desk and hauled his satchel strap over his shoulder before slipping his right hand into his pocket and sauntering away from Jim. Oh no you don't. Jim followed suite, by picking up his own bag and walking smoothly out of the door.

Sherlock walked to the door quite slowly as he felt Jim's eyes on him. It was like a bond, an invisible connection, those looks that let a cold shiver run down his spine. What was it that he wanted from him? It was really weird. Sherlock wanted both, to escape, for this feeling wasn't an emotional one, it meant danger. But the confusing part was that this danger excited him. He wanted to know what Jim was up to, wanted to play his game, wanted to continue those talks in which each of them would fight for the superior role. It had been only a few lines that they had shared, but still... Sherlock wanted to continue that. And it seemed like he would get the chance to.


	3. Playing

Jim followed Sherlock from about 6 metres back, to avoid detection, although he knew that Sherlock had already clocked him. It was a game. Where would Sherlock go to now? The canteen? Library? Jim never stopped, and remained at a constant pace, pushing past pupils and gliding behind teachers, just to keep Sherlock within eyesight. They were nearing the end of the corridor, which direction would he go?

Sherlock actually wondered how far Jim was willing to go. How far would he follow him? He decided to go into the bathroom. He wanted to know how much Jim understood of privacy.

Bathroom huh? Sherlock was testing his far he would take it, so where better than the toilets? They are close spaces, urinals are risky... Ah, if only it would affect him, then Sherlock could've won, but he wasn't phased in the slightest. He might as well empty his bladder whilst he was at it, could also perhaps get a glimpse of Sherlock down below... His lips curled into a smirk at the thought. Sherlock pushed open the door and walked in, followed eventually by Jim. This was where the real fun was about to begin.

Sherlock went to the basin first. Although he didn't really care about these kinds of things, he didn't want to reveal himself to Jim. So he pretended that he simply wanted to wash his hands, not more than that. He hadn't intended to pull back, but now.. well, it was better like this. He hadn't exactly expected that Jim would follow him.

Jim swung into the room casually and stepped up to the urinal. It was a pity Sherlock was just washing his hands, Jim could've caught a peak at his future prize, nothing more of course, at this stage anyway... The zip echoed around the room followed by the sound of urine hitting the ceramic. He did his flys up before waltzing to the sink beside Sherlock, who had been washing his hands for a very long time now, some would say, a suspiciously long time. He waited for Sherlock to make his first move as he rubbed his hands under the water.

"Interesting that you came here just when I do", Sherlock said, trying to hide that he had watched Jim half heartedly ( it hadn't been more than brief glimpses, he had focused on his hands under the water otherwise).

"Yes, yes." Jim agreed in a high voice, nodding his head.

He raised his eyes to look at Sherlock and gave him a light smile.

"Must be coincidence." He said, with a slight hint of devilish enjoyment.

"The universe is rarely so lazy", Sherlock replied, but a slight smile lay on his lips as well.

"Oh really?" Jim asked, feigning confusion.

He looked down as if he were thinking, picking at his lip and frowning too, he was acting, and he made this obvious of course, or at least, obvious to Sherlock. After a few seconds, he looked back up, and simply shrugged his shoulders, whilst stretching his mouth into a straight line.

"Well, in that case, I guess I must have followed you from the classroom all the way to the toilets then." He said, raising his eyebrows.

He was smiling wickedly on the inside, and he allowed some of it to shine through his eyes.

"So tell me, what do you need from me this time?" Sherlock knew that Jim had his reasons to follow him. They weren't as simple as with other people, weren't just love-orientated. Jim loved power, so this had something to do with it as well.

Jim frowned again, in mock offence.

"I just thought we could have a heart to heart, I do have one believe it or not." His "offence" melted away into his iconic smirk, "I know you feel exactly how I do." He paused, nodding his head, he wet his lips, "Bored, frustrated, cramped...This school is an itty bitty pond for us big fish, and it just keeps on shrinking."

"Continue", Sherlock said as he really wanted to here Jim's offer now. It was true, everybody in this school had such a small intellect, it was boring him to death. He'd do anything for a change.

Jim chuckled lightly, and stepped closer to Sherlock, so they were sharing the same breathing space and bent his head upwards with his lips close to Sherlock's face. He had hooked him in, now all he had to do was reel him to shore, he might leave him wanting more, who knows? Jim tutted, wagging his finger.

"No no no, you'll have to work for more of what I have to offer, earn it. If you want me to "continue" with what I have to say, then you'll find me later on. I have a feeling you won't let me down on that, mon chéri." His lips brushed against Sherlock's cheeks, and he made sure to let out a small, hot exhale of breath.

He smirked and twirled around to walk out of the door. As he stepped towards the exit, he held out a hand and waved slightly, all the while with his back facing Sherlock.

"I have a habit of loitering around the psychology room, thought you would like to know... Ciao, Sherlock." He called out, gliding through the door and into the corridor.

Jim made a mental note to hang around room 18 (the psychology room) at lunch, it was a good choice to talk. No one ever went in there during breaks. Sucking at the insides of his cheeks, Jim shoved his hands into his pockets and began to make his way to Business economics. Sherlock hadn't followed him, the door hadn't opened yet, and it didn't open at all in the entire time Jim was in earshot of it. Never looking back, Jim grinned. A sense of pride swirled in his chest and his eyes widened intently with triumph as he stared ahead of his path. He hadn't just hooked Sherlock, he'd dragged him in, and god did Jim know it.

Sherlock dried his hands slowly, uninterested in that task as something way more exciting had just happened. Well, it might be exciting, and not knowing made it even more exciting. What would Jim tell him? It could basically be anything. He wouldn't be able to focus on the next lesson, he knew that already. His mind would be stuck on this new riddle. So Sherlock left the restrooms looking forward to what was going to happen later. Finally some fun was going on!

Jim barely paid attention in Business, which was normal behaviour for him. He sat at the back of the room, where no one would pester him or distract him with their idle small-minded talk. They knew better anyway, but it ensured he would get what he wanted. He always got what he wanted, one way or another. Drumming his fingers on the wooden top of his solitary desk, Sherlock remained etched into his mind, not that Jim cared. Sherlock Holmes and Jim Moriarty... Unlimited, dynamic, powerful, take your pick. They would be all of them. His eyes flicked over his moving fingers, examining every crease of skin, where his nail ran into his flesh. The body really was complex, but, like everything, it became boring. His perspective looked past his hand, and onto the worn surface of his desk. He noticed that it was rather lacking in illustrations and commentary the others were riddled with, it was untainted, untouched. It was a fresh canvas for a new beginning. Jim wasn't really the sentimental type, far from it, he had never kept a photo album, or a diary when he was little, but the start of him and Sherlock was certainly something to record, and where better than a desk? Books and albums get lost and washed away in time, but desks remain still, exactly in the same spot for years, and their relationship was certainly worthy of such a legacy. Glancing up to see where the teacher was, Jim took out his pen and began etching the start, with the chosen words "Hooked, and about to be lined." He leant back in his chair to admire his work with a grin. 1 and a half hours left. Was Sherlock thinking of him? Undoubtedly. Jim knew that right at that moment, Sherlock was sitting in class, unable to focus because of the enigma Jim had created. It made his grin spread even wider. He loved it.

Jim went through the rest of business and psychology waiting solely for the sound of the bell screaming the start of lunch. He looked forward to it. Excitement thrummed through his veins perpetually. Was this what it felt like to be alive? Jim hadn't felt like that since he was a child, at the influential age of eight, it was a strange emotion, but he greeted it like an old friend. His face remained a stone mask and hid the rush he was experiencing in his mind. Lazily, he looked up at the clock above the blackboard. 5 minutes... It was infuriating how time seemingly slowed down whenever Jim wanted it to speed up. He was sure he wasn't alone on that thought, it was a common known fact that time grinds to a halt when one is looking forward to the future, Christmas was an ideal example. Jim glowered at the clock, watching every jerk of the second hand as the lesson inched to a close. He was so preoccupied with it that he didn't notice the boy next to him lean over his side.

"Moriarty, hey, hey!"

(Jim's 'followers', as they like to call themselves, typically called him by his surname, demanded by Jim, as they weren't family, nor were they friends, which meant that they didn't get the privilege to refer to his first name.)

Jim's concentration was broke by a rough cockney accent next to him. Annoyance flared up and Jim gritted his teeth. How he hated influence at times.

"What?" He snapped, glaring at the boy beside him.

The boy didn't flinch, but raised his eyebrows.

"You seemed to have had your 'ead up in the clouds, thought you might've floated away." The lad gave a wide grin, revealing a set of straight white teeth.

"You should learn to mind your own damn business Moran." Jim hissed, and went back to staring at the clock, 3 minutes.

"Tried, always failed though, delvin' into other people's lives is too interesting to give up."

"Delve into anyone else's life, just not mine," Jim growled, he cocked his head at Moran, "Got it?"

"Whatever you say, you're in charge."

"Of you, yes I am, now," he shooed with his hands, "Go away!"

Moran shrugged and sat back in his seat.

"Only tryin' to 'elp boss."

Moran had a habit of calling Jim that, not that he took any issue with it. The word carried power and power is what Jim craved. He ignored Moran's reply. Tick tick tick... 1 minute... 57 seconds... It was getting close, and Jim's excitement grew. The sound of the bell was like music to his ears and he snatched his bag from the chair without hesitation. He wasn't, however, the first out, he was always last, and to avoid suspicion, he didn't break the habit, even though he wanted to charge through the mass of people like a bull. Eventually, he was out of the room, and in the corridor. It would take Sherlock several minutes to reach the room, which gave Moriarty plenty enough time to think about the possibilities of the two of them together, it just made too much sense! He leant against the wall and pressed his shoulder to the locker next to him, placing one leg in front of the other as he did so. Casual, but sophisticated. All he had to do now, was wait for the show to begin.

Sherlock sighed in relief when the class was finally over. He hadn't really been able to figure what Jim... Moriarty! what Moriarty was planning, and now he would find out. He was highly excited and left the room as fast as he could, only to slow himself down again, because Jim would have to go first. Moriarty! Hell, why did he always call him by his first name? When Sherlock saw him he froze, but his mind was racing and going into battle mode. The game was on.

There he was. He looked like a deer in headlights, poor thing. It deepened the sense of pride growing in Jim's chest, and caused his smirk to reappear on his lips. Beneath it all, the pride and sense of control, his heart was beating rapidly, and adrenaline rushed through his veins. It felt good, it reminded him that he actually had a heart underneath his cold-blooded exterior. Jim arched an eyebrow at Sherlock and tipped his head casually.

"Sherlock."

"Jim", Sherlock said, using the first name on purpose. Maybe to provoke him, maybe to show that he wouldn't take the inferior role, not here, not anymore. This time it was way too exciting to give up before the game had even started.

Sherlock had used his first name deliberately to try and irritate him, but actually, Jim was going to ask him to call him by his more informal title anyway. It only made the win sweeter. Jim let out a satisfied sigh and closed his eyes. When he reopened them, he looked directly into Sherlock's.

"And here I was thinking I'd have to ASK you to call me that. So glad that's over."

He smirked.

"Interesting that you planned to ask me that. Don't you hate people being informal to you?" Sherlock was very well aware that it was to start a special bonding between them, to tie them together or whatever. Jim was complicated.

"Only people I don't want to call me that." He answered. "And the list is pretty long. The entire school, in fact. Every single pupil and teacher. Well, almost." He smirked, raising his eyes to Sherlock's.

"Well, I suppose that makes me special", was the reply as Sherlock looked back at the shorter male and tilted his head.

"I suppose it does." Jim said back, slowly blinking.

"Okay Jim, what do you want?" Sherlock was confused now and he didn't like it when he was confused. He needed to know what was going on, needed to be in control of the situation.

"I want... A partnership, of sorts, between you and I." Jim said, walking towards Sherlock, "... A relationship, you would say."

Sherlock could just stare at him. A what? Jim Moriarty, cold as ice and always intending to hurt everybody wanted a.. relationship?! He didn't have any suiting reply.

When Sherlock didn't reply, Jim took in a sharp breath.

"It only makes sense that the two smartest people in the school come together. Plus," Jim purred, now within Sherlock's personal area, "You are quite the beauty. I know you're intrigued too, thought I didn't notice you sneaking a peak at me in the toilets?" He said in a hushed tone, raising his eyebrows.

Sherlock blushed a little. So he had noticed.. NO. This wasn't what it seemed to be and he wouldn't let the little bastard fool him. "I see right through you, but I won't play this time. Not this game again. You have hidden cameras or friends of yours somewhere around here, ready to humiliate me if I say yes. That's how this works. But I won't let you do that to me. No."

Well I guess you've caught me."

Jim walked out to the middle of the corridor, held out his arms and began to turn around, like he was addressing a large crowd.

"You hear that guys?" He called out, "He knows you're here, come out!"

He pretended to wait for a few minutes, and surely enough, no one came running out from classrooms or from behind bins. They were still alone another minute later, the corridor quiet except from them. Oh, he could feel the embarrassment rolling off of Sherlock, the silent fuming over the fact that he had misjudged, and had also revealed one of his weaknesses. Being teased. Looking back at Sherlock, Jim lowered his arms and gave a triumphant smirk.

"See? No one. Not a single soul to come out and bully you. You really think that low of me?" He said, sprawling his hand over his chest in mock offence, and a pout to match.

Sherlock's heart pounded hard and fast, this situation was very... he didn't even know what it was. He felt embarrassed because he hadn't been right, and because... well, because he had always thought of Jim as somebody quite interesting, somebody he'd like to get to know further. He just felt caught and he didn't like it. "Of the person that rules this school and uses every chance he gets to kick others down? I guess so, yeah." It's what Jim was, a player, but he had a brilliant poker face. It was very hard to look through him and Sherlock hadn't brought his deduction skills to perfection yet.

A grin spread on Jim's face and he nodded his head. Excitement rushed through his veins, he was really loving this. His hands flattened on his chest into a over-dramatic gesture of gratification.

"I'm touched."

"It's what you are, no kind of romantic description or exaggeration and you are aware of that." This situation wasn't what Sherlock was used to, except from childish mocking that he detested. How was he supposed to react? He'd simply continue to play untouchable. Like he was superior. It was a game. So he would gamble.

 


	4. Provocation

"This isn't about romance," he said, spitting out the last word, "it's about what is so obviously right. It's screaming in your face, but you, Mr Untouchable, are too scared to admit it."

"Then tell me what it's about as you are so sure about it", Sherlock's voice had become harsh now, probably because he felt offended. But he wouldn't let Jim talk to him as if he was some stupid ordinary person.

"I just told you! Remember our little talk from earlier on? We're two big fish in a small pond, so why not join together? Huh?"

"Your intelligence... It is beautiful, a work of art. Mine is also, albeit slightly better. Face it, Sherlock, you're not going to meet anyone as similar to you than me, even if you traveled the seven seas. Do you really want to fuck anyone as dull as all the others?"

"Who said I'd want to "fuck" anyone?", Sherlock was rather repelled now and didn't know how to react. The act had always seemed to be something for lower minds, something he wouldn't need. It was dirty and disgusting. Nothing for him.

"No one but human nature did."

"Well, I'm not like other human beings."

"Whether you'd like to admit it or not Sherlock, you need someone. A partner. You're all isolated at home, with your brother who never even looks at you, and your parents who coddle you senseless. What you need, is a challenging brain, and they are in rare supply." Jim leaned in, and lowered his voice, "I know there's a part of you who craves this, and I will find it."

A spark flickered in Sherlock's eyes just for a second. Jim was right, but he had locked that part far far away and nobody could bring it back, not even Jim, the master of manipulation. Sherlock would never touch another person's genitals, and the thought of being covered in sweat and other sauces sent a cold shiver over his back. Would there be a possibility to hold it all clean he would give it a try, just a try out of curiousity, without any kind of attachment or emotion involved.

Jim saw that flash of surprise in Sherlock's eyes, he knew he was right. There was a Sherlock for Jim, buried deep. He would find it. And he would make it his. Sherlock doubted him, but he knew he would succeed, and it was this thought that caused another grin to spread on his face. Jim nodded his head slowly. "I know you're in there!" He sang.

"Shut up", Sherlock rolled his eyes, not willing to listen to this kind of stupidity anymore. But then... why didn't he just leave?

"Or what?" Jim replied smoothly, flicking his smiling eyes over Sherlock.

Sherlock didn't know a reply to that. He wouldn't do anything. He in fact was enjoying this. Jim was right. They together felt right. Talking. Not the sexual thing. But this mind battle was very exciting.

"You'll go running home to your 'mummy'?"

"Wrong", Sherlock could smile in an arrogant way now, "You yourself said that my parents are not the caring kind. So this argument was very poorly chosen, considering you know the truth already."

"It was sarcasm Sherlock," Jim said tiredly, "You know what that is right?"

"Of course I know sarcasm..."

"Well, obviously not as well as you had thought, did you?"

"It's a kind of human communication that has no use for me, so I tend not to detect it reliably."

"You don't tend to use any human communication anyway, so none of it has any use it you. Hello sociopath, I'm psychopath."

Sherlock observed Jim's features. Highly interesting. They were opposites, but still so similar. One unpredictable, the other trying to calculate everything. Just... fascinating.

Jim frowned, eyes flitting from one of Sherlock's eyes to the other. He had his 'concerned' mask on. "Oh dear, have I broken him?" He asked aloud, knocking his fist lightly on Sherlock's head.

Sherlock grabbed Jim's wrist within a second, held it tight, but didn't move. He still just stared at him.

Jim smirked at Sherlock's hand on his wrist, it was cold. Somehow he expected that. He didn't speak, but just looked right back, letting the madness show. It was a stare down, a competition to see who would give in first. Jim wasn't going to loose. And he wasn't at all phased by the sudden physicality their conversation had taken on. If anything, it excited him, both mentally and.... Physically.

How did he dare to touch him! Sherlock just stared at Jim, observed his face, especially those deep brown eyes with an amazing amount of madness. Where would this go? What would happen once they broke the eye contact?

Jim refused to back down. A lack of respect or fear of staring straight in someone's eyes were two things that he possessed, and he felt no discomfort at continuing this standoff. What would Sherlock do? His hand hadn't left his wrist, nor had it loosened. Was this a sign? The exciting Sherlock trying to send a message? Maybe he knew morse code? Jim tapped out four words on the inside of Sherlock's arm, where his fingers rested in his grip. 

C-O-M-E -- O-U-T -- A-N-D -- P-L-A-Y.

Sherlock didn't hesitate any longer. There was only one way to win this standoff. He leaned forward really quickly and touched Jim's lips with his own. He wasn't sure if it could be considered a kiss, he had no idea what kisses were like, so it was nothing but a touch, he didn't move or anything, but still held Jim's wrist.

Jim was expecting anything, Sherlock to tap back, to continue staring, to walk away, but not to kiss him. Jim Moriarty had been surprised. It didn't last long, Sherlock pulled back before he could enjoy it. Jim would not stand for that. He grabbed Sherlock's blazer and dragged him forward to his mouth, locking it with Sherlock's pointed lips. He would be damned if he didn't outdo Sherlock.

It hadn't really been unexpected, this reaction of Jim's, and Sherlock was really proud that he had surprised him. But now he was nervous as well. He didn't know how to kiss! He didn't know what to do!

Jim pushed Sherlock against the wall, taking the lead, as Sherlock obviously didn't know what to do. That's what you get for choosing a virgin. Confidence spread in Jim's chest as he continued to kiss Sherlock, he wouldn't break away until the other teenager finally challenged his dominance in the embrace.

Sherlock's mind worked and so he combined from what Jim did what he had to do himself and soon started to kiss him as well. Being pushed against a wall - That was some kind of exciting! Sherlock tried to understand what was happening to him. It was something very new.

Jim's eyes had remained on Sherlock's, and now they narrowed with excitement. He had begun to push back! Finally. The virgin was slipping into the first base category, and learning fast. His hand smacked onto the wall as he increased his attack on Sherlocks lips.

Jim had put more pressure into the kiss and it somehow triggered something in Sherlock that made him do the same.

Goddamn Sherlock knew how to keep a game running! They were in mortal danger of being interrupted by a teacher, and it was a good time to break away (he wanted to leave Sherlock hanging). So, without any warning, Jim abruptly ended it, and sauntered away, down the stairs. This time he didn't even bother saying goodbye.

He looked after him and cursed himself because Jim caused exactly what he had intended. He hadn't wanted for it to stop. Sherlock touched his lips. They felt... interesting. Used in a way. It was a good thing. He didn't want that feeling to go away.

The world felt small beneath Jim's feet as he walked past gaggles of people, squawking and chittering in their numbers. They were so oblivious to the scene that had just unfolded above their heads. Jim loved it, he loved having a secret. He headed towards the canteen, where undoubtedly Moran and several others of his admirers would be stood waiting for him. This prospect made him grimace. They were like flies, annoying little buggers. But, they had their upsides. The feel of Sherlock still tingled on his lips and he licked them to get the remaining pockets of Sherlock's taste on his tongue, revealing in it. His trousers had grown tighter from their meeting... they would eventually die down but for the time being, it made walking difficult. Jim didn't have a problem in concealing it, it was just the awkwardness of its position. But it meant something. He had never experienced this from an actual person before, he had never felt a sexual attraction towards someone. Never. This was a day for many firsts indeed.

Sherlock went to the library. That was a place where he was safe, where he could walk unseen and going to the canteen wouldn't have made any sense since Sherlock wasn't hungry. He grabbed just any book, then he sat down in an armchair. He had to think about what had just happened. He was a very good thinker; he could completely disappear in his own mind. So... Jim. Moriarty. Jim. Whatever. The feeling on his lips slowly vanished and he started to miss it already. But why? It was mere human interaction, an act that he had seen many times before. It was... human, ugh. Sherlock couldn't stand being human. It made him ordinary. And still what he had just felt... was quite extraordinary...

Sure as day, Jim was greeted by Moran and several others whose names he hadn't bothered to remember. They followed him like dogs to the queue, yapping around him. "Guys guys!" Jim exclaimed, turning around to face them, his finger held in the air and his head cocked to the side, "Do you hear that?" Their heads swivelled like birds, their warbling silenced. Moran looked at Jim, confused. "'Ear what Boss?" Jim sighed in relief, his mouth slightly open. "Silence." He whispered, his face turning to stone, "Which is what I like." His plan worked, they didn't speak for the entire time he was in the line. He payed and went to sit down in his spot, a secluded table only for himself, even his lackeys knew that. He was alone. Jim's mind lingered on Sherlock. Why? Surely he was in control of his thoughts? He shook his head to clear it as he began to cut into the pie on his plate. The thought stayed.

Sherlock was going through all the information that he had collected about Jim so far. He was dangerous, he controlled the school, everybody would obey when he talked because they knew the consequences. How was he able to do that? Quite simple. He was a brilliant manipulator. Which caused two thoughts to shoot through Sherlock's head at the same time: First, admiration. Moriarty was very smart, could see all the people's weaknesses and knew how to build a web of fear. He was good at making plans, and he was smart enough to not let anybody see through him or them. Sherlock could. And it wasn't easy. Which made it much more fun! He had always loved a good riddle. Secondly... doubt. Jim must have manipulated him into kissing him and he had fallen for it. He even got interested in continuing with it, seeing what else would happen. Sherlock was quite sure that he was nothing more but another toy of Jim's. If he got to play a bit... why bother?

The pie quickly became boring, and Jim threw the torn remnants of the pastry into the bin. Sherlock was still on the brain, like a parasite, eating away at his thoughts. Jim gritted his teeth in quiet frustration and slipped away from the canteen, leaving his lackeys swarming by themselves. He hated them.

Sherlock had always loved a good game. And Jim was definitely playing. Sherlock was highly excited about the next move. What was there for him to fear? What to lose? Everybody hated him. There wasn't a single person's opinion that could become worse. And actually he had stopped caring. Of course it wasn't nice, all the looks, but they were just looks. The really bad experiences were when they actually did something, hurt him physically. If it was only one person attacking him he might even be able to fight back, but mostly they came to him in groups. And Sherlock was very slender, they were strong. He could always outsmart them, obviously, but when it came to a physical fight he didn't stand a chance... No. Not these thoughts. Not now. Excitement. New feed for his brain. The devilishly handsome Jim Moriarty.

Jim had double chemistry that day, which meant that he would be right behind Sherlock again. He smirked at the thought. No doubt the other boy would be asking questions. Glancing at his watch, he chewed the inside of his cheek. It was nearly movement time. Jim tucked his hand back into his pocket and began to meander towards the room, like a snake.

Handsome? Jim was... yes he was handsome. But since when did Sherlock have these thoughts? For god's sake. This wasn't him. He wasn't feeling. Not like that. He had forbid himself to do that. He... no. Just - no.

Like always, Jim arrived early. It meant less calamity on his part, with the others squawking to get in. Plus it gave him a few minutes peace and quiet from the noise of the school, the teacher never minded him coming in early. He didn't even know. The teacher always went off school grounds for an afternoon smoke, and like Jim was always early, he was always a few minutes behind. As he walked to his place, he trailed his fingers along Sherlock's desk, skimming the surface. He let his hand drop to his side with a smirk and he fell into his seat, resting his legs up on the desk casually.

Sherlock couldn't help himself but imagined Jim's touch. A gentle touch, his hand running over his arm, his shoulder, over his back. He shivered.

No. No! He would not just give in to this. There must've been anything else his thoughts could go to. But nothing ever happened in this school. It was so boring! Sherlock hated being bored.

In the time running up to lesson, Jim had expected Sherlock to have come barging in, but surprisingly, he remained by himself, whistling a flat tune. Never much of a whistler, didn't stop him though, nothing ever did. If he wanted it, he got it. The babble began to seep in five minutes to the lesson, stray others chatting quietly. That would soon change as more came in. Why was Chemistry such a popular a-level this year? Jim eyed the newcomers with open contempt, even when a few waved at him. Niceties, he had little time for them. He watched as more and more people filled up the class, but not one of them were interesting. None of them were Sherlock. Jim inched an eyebrow higher in quiet wondering. He had been joking when he asked whether he had broken the boy, perhaps he had really malfunctioned? Even the teacher arrived before Sherlock, and that was really saying something. Mr Drew (the teacher) was an infamous hypocrite. He would never apologise for being late, but if any of his pupils were, they would be scorned for it. Jim smiled in anticipation for Sherlock's eventual arrival, it was going to be entertaining.

But on the other hand, if they were just going to... Enough of these thoughts! Sherlock zoomed out and arrived back in reality. Stupid reality. His mind was a much more exciting place. But there was something wrong here... all the students were gone... what time was it?! Sherlock caught a glimpse of the big clock at the end of the library and the next second he had already grabbed his bag and had rushed outside the room. He was 10 minutes late for Chemistry! No, no no! Mr. Drew would never forgive him! And he would be laughed at by everybody again. Sherlock, the dreamer, the fly mind, the boy who doesn't fit in. All eyes would lay on him... When he arrived at the door he hesitated. He didn't want to get in. He really didn't. The seconds passed. 10 seconds. 20 seconds. His hand was above the door handle. Just go in! It's what logic tells you. The longer you wait, the worse it becomes! So Sherlock took a deep breath and - no. No he couldn't. He couldn't. Steps on the floor. Okay, now he had to. He knocked on the door, then he entered. He would just play it cool. Nobody needed to know how weak he was. The second he entered he could feel the tension in the room. Everybody stopped talking and looked towards the door, nosy about who it was to enter late (obviously some students were ill and it could have been them instead of Sherlock). When they saw it was him they started to grin, to talk to each other. Just like he had expected. But he stood there, tall and strong, like a soldier, and went through this procedure. It was inevitable. "I apologize for being late, Mr. Drew. Before you ask, yes I have done my homework, I'm not late to skip that part of the lesson. Why then? I was held busy in the library. I am aware you will give me some kind of punishment and I am open for it."

"As always, a great showman Mr Holmes!" Mr Drew exclaimed, his Scottish accent rolling the 'gr', "I expect you to have won a bafta by now!" This was great, Jim watched on, not smiling with his mouth like the others, but with his eyes. They narrowed slightly.

"Obviously not as I am held prisoner in this ghastly place", Sherlock sighed and looked around the room. Offence was the best defence. They just mustn't know that he cared. Caring made you vulnerable. "But going by the fact that you chose this example I deduce that you agree with me on the fact that this school is a horrible place wasting talent. I'm sure you would've loved to go on stage and show everybody your great acting talent. You need appreciation, you crave it. Exactly why you have to rubbish other people like me."

The entire class went silent in a heartbeat, save for Jim giving out a loud exhale of breath through his tightened mouth, which was broken up by a slight laugh. Luckily, Mr Drew didn't hear it, his attention was on Sherlock. Someone in the class whispered 'oh shit.' He didn't hear that either. Mr Drew's face became red with anger, and his eyes bulged from his skull. This /was/ going to be fun. "You should know your place boy!" He shouted, "Instead of thinking you are above it you pig-headed spoiled brat!" He was visibly quaking now, like a volcano, "Come here." He growled.

Sherlock didn't move one bit. He knew that this was a situation in which everybody would have been scared. And his behaviour probably seemed to be arrogant, but it was the only way that he could deal with it. The only way he could deal with anything. Read people and react to what they were doing. "You can't insult me like that. I could go to the education authority and report you there." Sherlock just hoped that Mr. Drew's punishment wouldn't be of an embarrassing or physical way.

"It's not an insult if it's true!" He hissed back, "Come here!"

"It is an insult as soon as you use swear words", Sherlock said more silently now, knowing that his deductions only made it worse, "And no, why?"

"Because I asked you too!" He bellowed, visible spit flying from his mouth.

"Alright, alright, stay calm", Sherlock said, lifting his hands in defense, while he himself wasn't calm anymore. Nobody (except Moriarty, maybe) would have noticed that though. So he stepped closer to the teacher as he had asked.

Mr Drew looked like he wanted to strangle Sherlock by now, his hands were clenched hard by his sides. He had to look up at the taller boy. "Young man that is no respectable way to behave in my class, or in this school, you may think you're being clever doing this but you're just making a fool of yourself and the entire class knows it." He said angrily in a hushed tone, but loud enough for the class to hear, "Three after school detentions. Go to your desk." He spat.

"If that's what you like to tell yourself to feel safe...", Sherlock said before he turned and walked to his desk.

"Make that four!" Mr Drew shouted from his chair, glaring at Sherlock.

Sherlock smirked to himself. Not because he liked to get detention, but because he had been right with his assumption. Provoking him further would mean more desperate tries to punish and break him.

He finally sat down on his chair.

Jim slowly slid his feet from off of his desk, and clapped quietly. Not loud enough for Mr Drew to hear, lord no, he wasn't that stupid. Or bored, now that Sherlock had done it. Mr Drew was taking some time to calm down, occasionally throwing a glare at Sherlock. The noise began to gradually rise again.

Sherlock hadn't noticed before, but when he heard the clapping he immediately knew that Jim sat behind him and a cold shiver ran down his spine.

Jim let his clapping taper off into the sounds of the class. He didn't speak, no, he'd let Sherlock do that. Smiling, he licked his lips slightly, wetting them. He really didn't know why Sherlock didn't take drama.

Sherlock smirked and enjoyed Jim's looks on his back. He wondered what the other male would do if he made him wait.

Jim stared at the back of Sherlock's head, wondering what it would feel like to run his fingers through it and tug at the thick curls. He snorted lightly at the thought and looked around the classroom, pretending to be bored already. Time was running out, Mr Drew was becoming more calm. Tick tock tick tock.

He finally turned around as nothing happened. "You're boring", Sherlock said and looked directly into Jim's eyes. Oh no, he wasn't.

"Right back at you." Jim retaliated smoothly, a small smile growing on his face.

"So my little show didn't entertain you?", the answer came with a slight smile as well.

"Oh no, that," Jim waved his hand vaguely over where Sherlock stood at the front, "that was great, amazing acting, I could hardly notice your fear."

"I knew you'd notice", Sherlock smiled and wondered if this was a normal discussion or flirting. He didn't really know what flirting was, but this was game, he'd always know that.

"You thought of me?" His hand went to his chest, "I'm touched."

Sherlock rolled his eyes. "Who else should I think of? They're all so boring!"

"I thought you just said I was boring?" Jim raised his eyebrows, eyes grinning.

"You not talking is boring. But when you do... you're not boring." Sherlock wouldn't admit that he found him interesting.

"A star explanation there, William."

"That's not... well it is. But I don't like to be called like that."

"I know." Jim said, nodding his head. He loved how Sherlock was avoiding the elephant in the room, and acting as if they had only just started talking. How cute.

Sherlock knitted his brows and tried to find what Jim was thinking about. If only the depth of his eyes wasn't so distracting!

"You won't find what you're looking for Sherlock." Jim sighed, staring back into Sherlock's blue eyes, "You can try and try until the cows come home but you won't figure it out. I'm not like the others."

"Then tell me what you think", Sherlock replied, but he wouldn't give up that easily. He loved a challenge.

"I'm thinking I don't want to, this is too much fun."

Sherlock tried harder. It couldn't be that difficult. Without noticing he folded his hands in front of his lips. Jim was smart, but he was a human being. There were structures in him that could be found in others as well. There must've been!

"Oohoo, it's getting serious now, we've had to steeple our hands, very tense, I feel like I'm going to faint from the pressure." Jim pressed a hand to his forehead dramatically.

Sherlock blushed as he noticed that he was doing the hand-thing again and put them down. He did it automatically and always felt very caught. It wasn't the normal thing to do. "You think you're invincible and you wonder if I can break that barrier..."

Jim made a buzzing sound that indicated Sherlock was wrong. "Try again."

"I think I'm right and you don't even realize that yourself. But well, let's not talk about that. You'd describe it as 'You just want to have a little fun'."

"Well, no, I'm not actively thinking it, it's just knowledge. No one ever gets to me, and quite frankly no one ever will." He said, smiling.

"That's sad...", Sherlock answered.

"Yes, let's all weep for James Moriarty's impenetrable mind. I'm sure it's a terrible condition."

"I think I'm right. You're not as intouchable as you pretend to be. Maybe you, as master manipulator, have brought yourself to believe you are, but you're not."

"And what are you going to do to prove your hypothesis? Cut my head open? That'd be a bit messy, and a waste of my time..."

"I'm going to get to you." He kept the eye contact and looked at him with strength.

Jim noticed this sudden look of determination in Sherlock's eyes and shuffled on his seat to get in a comfortable position, staring back with deep amusement. "Oh will you?" He asked lowly, flicking up an eyebrow.

"I think I already have", Sherlock smirked, "I've brought a crack to the egg you're locking yourself away in."

Jim arched his eyebrows together. "And what is this 'crack'?"

"You're showing interest in somebody who isn't yourself. You treat me differently from all the others. You're showing interest in me."

"It's called recognising that there's actually someone in this school who has a brain floating around in their head, hardly a crack in my 'egg'."

"And that's why you were interested in such a thing as a kiss? I'm sorry, but that's a bit hard to believe. Not the only hard thing..." Sherlock lifted an eyebrow and smirked.

Since when was he talking like this?!

A small streak of surprise passed through Moriarty at Sherlock's suggestive words, it was mingled with excitement too. "Can't that be counted as recognising I'm not alone? After all, it wasn't like I was the only one with that little problem was I?"

"N.. no. I.. I mean yes...", damn, now he got him! Why did he stutter? Why did this topic get to him?!

Jim snorted in amusement. He put his head back as the laughter drifted away. "Maybe not drama material after all then..." He mused to himself.

Sherlock didn't know what to reply. This hadn't been a good idea. He had driven the conversation to a topic that he had no knowledge about. No knowledge at all.

"Amazing.." Jim muttered, "Sex alarms you so much it shuts you down. Hasn't mummy had the talk with you yet?"

Sherlock couldn't help but blushed. Why was his body betraying him like this?! "It doesn't alarm me", he lied and regretted it because it was a very obvious lie.

"How would you know?" Jim shot back.

"I know because I feel no attraction, no need to get physical."

"Then what was th-the st-stuttering for then? And the blushing, hmm?" Jim inquired, "I think someone is telling fibs." He whispered.

"Why am I even talking to you about this?"

"Yes, why are you, Sherlock?" Jim asked, leaning back on his seat, watching Sherlock.

"Leave me alone", Sherlock said in realization and turned back to the front of the class.

This couldn't be. It just couldn't be.

Jim chuckled at Sherlock's attempts to ignore him. He was fine with it, wouldn't try to reinitiate the conversation. He wasn't weak. Mr Drew was stood up now, and still giving Sherlock the occasional Black Death stare, he got on with the lesson.

Sherlock tried his best not to be obvious in what he was thinking. His mind had drifted of to doing things with Jim. Naughty things. And he had enjoyed those thoughts. That's why he had been talking to him. Because he was enjoying it. Because he was hoping that those thoughts could become reality. What was wrong with him?!

Jim knew exactly what was going through Sherlock's head, scenarios of him and Jim together... For a genius he was quite predictable. It was funny. To try and provoke Sherlock he slowly pulled his jumper off, causing his shirt to become untucked in some places. He also knew that a Sherlock was watching him from the corner of his eye.

Sherlock saw what Jim was doing and he knew why he was doing it. So he got one of his school books out and pretended to be following the lesson. Still he glanced over to Jim again and again. No. He had to focus on anything else. Chemistry had always been interesting.

Jim sighed brightly as he finally got the jumper over his head, secretly laughing at Sherlock's vain attempt to try and distract himself. He draped it on the back of his chair and settled down again, facing forward.

When Mr. Drew asked a question Sherlock raised his hand. Probably not the best idea. But the best way to distract himself from Jim.

Mr Drew looked over at Sherlock's hand as if it was putting the middle finger up at him. Nonetheless, he kept a calm head. "Yes, William?" Jim snorted.

"The answer is 0,4368 kgmol, Sir."

Mr Drew pursed his lips. "Thank you William." He said tightly, before turning back to the board. Jim was still quietly laughing, and the repeat of Sherlock's first name started it again.

“My name is Sherlock.“ The first time he had been able to ignore it, but the repitation...

"No, your name on the register is William Holmes, I'm sure the school doesn't allow Students to make up their name as they please."

“It's because my parents didn't put my whole name when they registered me here. Sherlock is my second first name and I prefer being called that.“

"A second first name? I believe most people call that a middle name. As for your parents not putting 'Sherlock' down, I'm going to go by their decision and call you either William, or Mr Holmes like it says on the register."

“It is my second first name as I indeed do have another name which then would be my middle name.“

"And should I call you by /that/ too?" Mr Drew sneered.

“No, Sherlock would be amazing.“

Mr Drew looked at Sherlock. "I'll consider it." He said, and continued talking, pointing to the board every so often

Ah, wonderful. He was just too annoying.

The name issue was a big thing for Sherlock.

"He might start calling you Bill if you two get close." Jim whispered behind Sherlock.

“Stop it“, Sherlock hissed. Nobody would ever be allowed to call him that again.

"That's what you get for pissing off the teacher Sherlock, a whole lot of shit." Jim said, shaking his head.

“He won't call me that“, Sherlock replied with a strong and angry voice.

"Mm, no. But he won't stop calling you William if you don't do anything."

“Then what do you recommend me to do, master?“, Sherlock asked with irony in his voice.

"Deduce," Jim chuckled, "Find what you can and use it against him."

“Oh but aren't my deductions provoking him?“

Jim sighed. "Find something he doesn't want to be found, hold it against him, I've found it. Have you?"

“I don't need to prove my abilities to you.“

"No, but you want him to stop calling you William don't you?"

“He won't call me that again.“

"Yeah? And what makes you so sure of yourself?"

Sherlock raised his arm in annoyance now and exclaimed: “Mr. Drew Jim is distracting me from the lesson!“

"And I'm sure that he will stop now that you've grassed him out," Mr Drew replied dryly, "Good job."

“How are you all working against me?!“

"And how are we working against you?" Mr Drew scoffed.

"Sir," Jim interjected, "I was only asking William whether he needed help or not with the work, he seemed to be struggling." Jim called out innocently.

„That's not true, he's lying!“

"Is he now? And how am I to know that then Mr Holmes? For all I know, you could be lying about your 'second first name'?"

"Now, enough of all of this nonsense, both of you get on with the work!"

“Yes. Back to work. Good!“ Sherlock looked back down on his book. This was all it was. Some stupid nonsense.

"Snitch." Jim whispered with amusement. Was he really that unbearable? Or had he just hit a nerve? He was sure it was the latter.

He didn't reply anymore. His chemistry book was much more interesting. 

“An ion (/ˈaɪən, -ɒn/)[1] is an atom or a molecule in which the total number of electrons is not equal to the total number of protons, giving the atom or molecule a net positive or negative electrical charge. Ions can be created, by either chemical or physical means, via ionization.“

Jim decided that it would actually be good to do some work this term, and lazily looked at the questions in the book. Primary school stuff. He scrawled the answers out in his workbook and went back to staring at Sherlock's head. Spoilsport. Boredom quickly grew and latched onto him.

Ah yes. He had forgotten how good he was in chemistry. Well, the practical stuff, not the unnecessary details. Sherlock loved it.

There was nothing to do, and it was only half way through the lesson. Jim craned his head back in boredom and resisted the urge to shout, instead letting out a long groan. He watched the others in the class, struggling. One boy had his head in his hands and looked like he was about to have an aneurysm.

Sherlock smiled to himself as he heard the noise Jim made. He was bored, wonderful!

Imitating a gun with his hand, Jim aimed at the back of Sherlock's head, right eye shut, and pulled the 'trigger', jutting his hand with recoil. Of course, it didn't do anything. Jim blew the imaginary dust from his finger and slid his 'gun' back into his pocket. Why was he so bored? He had managed for a whole year without Sherlock entertaining him, how? Jim wet his lips with his tongue.

Okay, Sherlock had to admit that he was bored too, but it was way too much fun watching Jim be bored as that he would distract him.

He was taking the piss now, Jim could tell. The constant tapping of Sherlock's finger made it obvious that he was also bored, either he was still annoyed from earlier or he was taking enjoyment out of Jim's boredom. Well, regardless of both, Jim decided to stop acting bored. He rested his head on the table and closed his eyes.

Sherlock knitted his brows. How could Jim sleep in school in such an obvious way and not be punished?

Of course, Jim kept an ear out for any sound that would indicate Mr Drew coming closer, so he didn't really sleep. He didn't want to. Boredom had forced him to resort to this, Sherlock had made him bored, since he wasn't wanting to play. The table was cool against his forehead.

Sherlock loved winning. Jim being like this meant that Sherlock was superior - for the moment.

Soon, even resting his head became boring, even more than before. Was this purgatory? He glanced up at the clock, 20 minutes left, and leant back in his seat with a sigh. Fingers drumming against the table, he looked around the room again. Everyone was still working, not that it would make any difference if they weren't, Jim didn't bother engaging in any dull conversation with them.

Oh yes, the boredom was eating him alive. It was just brilliant. Although Sherlock didn't know since when he wanted somebody to go through something horrible...

Jim wouldn't give in, he wouldn't give Sherlock the satisfaction. He glowered at the back of his head.

Come on Jim, you know you want it. Surrender. Talk to me.

He was mentally fighting himself, between giving in and staying stubborn. The latter was much stronger but his boredom still made it uncomfortable. His skin began to itch.

Sherlock knew that he could make it until the end of the lesson, but still it would be just amazing if Jim had to give in.

Jim was thinking of things he wanted to do to Sherlock, not all of them innocent thoughts. Scratch that, none of them were. A nerve jumped in his jaw.

A period of time that was way too long later the bell rang and Sherlock could only roll his eyes. Unfortunately Jim had managed not to talk to him the entire time. Phh. He didn't even know why he cared.

He lifted his head off of the table, sighing as he did so. God he was glad that torture was over. Stretching, he stood up and took his bag in hand, looking briefly over at Sherlock. "Was that as good for you as it was for me?" He asked sarcastically, pulling his bag over his shoulder.

"Nah, I lost. Don't like losing." Sherlock got up too and started to pack his bag.

"There's another thing we have in common, only difference is, I never let myself lose.

"We'll see about that", Sherlock said more to himself than to Jim.

"Is that a challenge Mr Holmes?" Jim asked lowly.

"Maybe", Sherlock couldn't hide the smirk that suddenly appeared on his lips. What was wrong with him?!

"Well then, I accept." He grinned mischievously, walking past Sherlock.

Sherlock bit his lip, that grin suited Jim so well. Made him so... attractive. No! He continued to pack his things with more pressure. He wouldn't fall for him.

 


End file.
